Love is your master, for he masters you:And he that is so yoked by a fool,Methinks, should not be chronicled
for wise.

PROTEUS

Yet writers say, as in the sweetest budThe eating canker dwells, so eating loveInhabits in the finest wits
of all.

VALENTINE

And writers say, as the most forward budIs eaten by the canker ere it blow,Even so by love the young
and tender witIs turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,Losing his verdure even in the primeAnd all the fair
effects of future hopes.But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,That art a votary to fond desire?Once
more adieu! my father at the roadExpects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.

Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.To Milan let me hear from thee by lettersOf thy success in
love, and what news elseBetideth here in absence of thy friend;And likewise will visit thee with mine.

He after honour hunts, I after love:He leaves his friends to dignify them more,I leave myself, my friends
and all, for love.Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,War
with good counsel, set the world at nought;Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.